Wanted

They say she's a thief. 

They say she steals hearts.

She would disagree.  She'd say that she didn't take anything that didn't want to be taken.  She'd say those hearts were given to her, free and clear.  Then she'd give you her wide-eyed, innocent look, and you'd eagerly agree that "they" must be delusional.

She's a creature of the night, but never in the shadows.  She's sweet.  She's crafty.  Beguiling and bewitching.  When she struts onto the dance floor, you know she owns it.  She crooks her finger and her chosen partner comes running, desperate to lead her, even if it's just for one song.  Her attitude captivates, her grace mesmerizes.  One song, and you're lost.

How do I know?  I've been there.  One song, and she had me.  She knew it too.  She graced me with that little smile—the one that feels like it's aimed right at your heart—and I haven't been the same since. 

Then the song was over and, with a flick of her saucy heel, she walked on, leaving me alone in the crowd, helplessly watching her select her next victim.

If you see her, be wary.  

If you see her, tell her I miss her.